


Say it Again

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: WinterIron Bingo [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Deaf Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Self-Hatred, Tech is not always the solution, temporary deafness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky loses the ability to hear… and learns something new about himself...For WinterIron Bingo Square, B3 - Deaf





	Say it Again

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains some mild amounts of cultural ableism, particularly in Bucky’s views on himself, not being able to read.

Bucky always seemed smaller, somehow, in the infirmary, than he did in the rest of the world. Presence. Tony knew something about that; people were constantly shocked by how much shorter Tony was than they’d imagined, and, to some degree, how much less loud in a personal setting than a professional one.

The fact that he had lifts in the Iron Man armor probably didn’t hurt, either.

Bucky had come awake very suddenly that morning; the damage from the fall, combined with being at ground zero of a non-nuclear explosion had sent him into a coma for several days. Not unexpected, and while nerve-wracking, Tony admitted that sleep was the best thing for him. Let the serum heal the damage, just as soon as the medical trauma teams finished closing up the wounds.

He’d… laid there for a long time, not answering anyone. Eyes opened, looked around the room, and then closed again. He didn’t entirely seem… aware.

Around noon, he’d finally given medical something they could work with. He’d pointed metal fingers at his ear, and then shook his head.

His hearing was gone. Entirely, though the medics were confident that the serum would heal the damage in time. They didn’t, however, have any idea how long that would take. A few hours? A few days? A month? No clue. Ears, it turned out, were finicky and fussy constructions.

But other than that, he was in great shape, only a few bruises and nicks left to highlight where the worst of the damage had been, so they were cutting him loose.

Which left it to Tony to take care of his boyfriend. That was a switch; usually it was Bucky hovering at Tony’s side as he laboriously and without the serum healed from his injuries, or hacked his way through whatever bug had run rampant through the building.

Tony had whipped up quick app for Bucky’s tablet -- as long as he was within range of the Compound, anything anyone said to Bucky would be displayed on the tablet’s screen, in a discreet little bar at the top of the screen, where it wouldn’t interfere with the rest of the tablet’s function. “Here you go, babe,” he said, demonstrating the functions. “I’m pretty sure I can make it work outside of FRIDAY’s range, but the native voice-to-text translators are... lacking.”

Bucky stared down at the tablet, then back up at Tony’s mouth, back down to the tablet. He hadn’t said anything, at all, since the med techs turned him loose, even though nothing was wrong with his vocal chords. He scowled at the tablet again, then, very slowly, tapped out _Thank you_ , and showed it to Tony. Followed by a scribble of Bucky’s normally terrible handwriting -- he’d been left handed before the accident, and Hydra hadn’t cared about his penmanship -- _you talk too fast_.

“You already knew that,” Tony pointed out, grinning. “I’ll try to slow it down a little for you. Is this better?” It felt like talking through molasses, honestly. “You know you can still talk, right?”

Bucky nodded. _Medtex md me. Fezl weird._

Tony squinted at the message, then nodded. “Okay, as long as you know you _can_. Whatever makes you more comfortable. They said you should take it easy for a while, so... What do you want to do? Play chess? Watch a movie? We can put in something you’ve already seen, turn on the subtitles.”

Bucky stared down at the block of text that Tony had spewed out, even talking slower, he tended to say at least four times as many words as strictly necessary. _Movis good. Die Hard?_ Unlike Steve, who complained constantly about the gunfire scenes in various action movies, Bucky’d always seemed to enjoy them; everything from _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_ to _Indiana Jones_ and back, the more ridiculous, the better.

 _Die Hard_ was not a Christmas movie, even if some people insisted it was, but they’d started it as a tradition around then, and sometimes Bucky would ask to watch it in July anyway. It might not be a Christmas movie, but Tony knew something about comfort films.

“You got it, sugarlips. You want to get it set up and I’ll get us some snacks?” Especially since Bucky had been in a coma, healing, for a couple of days. He was bound to be hungry; IV nutrition just barely sustained him. Something calorie-dense -- nachos, maybe, with meat and veggies and cheese, protein and fat and carbs all at once, and at least a nod toward nutrition. And some cookies for dessert.

Tony put it all together, a heaping platter of food and a selection of drinks, and carried it all back out to the movie room.

For a while, it was just them, and then Nat came in, wearing old leggings with holes in them and an oversized sweatshirt that Tony was pretty sure belonged to Steve. And then Steve joined them. And Bruce. And Clint.

And of course, everyone talked.

Bucky spent more of the movie scowling at his tablet than he did watching the film.

Tony nudged him. “Okay?”

Bucky nodded. Then, taking advantage of what appeared to be yet another Steve-against-gun-phyics argument, said in a voice that was probably meant to be a whisper. “It’s a lot.”

Tony glanced down at the tablet, which was scrolling text across the top in a continuous marquee, one line for Steve’s rant, and another for the movie, and a third of Clint arguing with Steve. Tony grimaced. “Sorry,” he said. “You want to do something else?” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to underscore his question.

Bucky nodded. _Wrksp? Can just watch u_

Tony nodded quickly. “Yeah, absolutely, we can do that.” He set aside the various dishes and bottles piled on their laps and then helped Bucky to his feet. “We’re just going to go somewhere a little quieter,” he told the others’ curious looks.

“He’s deaf,” Clint pointed out. “It doesn’t get much quieter than that.”

Tony made a face. “ _I_ can still hear you, birdbrain.” He curled his hand into Bucky’s. “Come on, Buckaboo.”

***

Being deaf was not at all like what Bucky had thought -- if he’d even given it any thought at all before it happened, and he was pretty sure he had not. 

First off, it wasn’t pure silence, if there could ever be such a thing. Bucky’s serum had enhanced most of his senses, turned them up to eleven, as Peter Parker had once explained it. He could hear breathing and heartbeats and the pulse of blood through a person’s veins, including his own. So, silence was a concept, not ever a reality.

Even being deaf, apparently, wasn’t _no noise_.

It was just senseless noise.

His head rang like a bell, constantly. Like a headache, with no pain. What he “heard” was the audio equivalent of the shimmer of sunlight on too-hot pavement. Directionless. Meaningless. Noise.

But it wasn’t silence.

There were some sounds he could still, sort of, hear. Gunfire. Someone yelling. It didn’t mean anything, out of context as it was, but he could hear it. 

So, that was good, at least. He didn’t have to worry about not hearing someone who was shooting at them.

Not that Steve would let him back into the field, even if Bucky wanted to, while he was operating impaired.

Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He relied on his hearing, the way a person moved in the space around him. Several times, recently, Tony had startled him, badly, just because he came up behind Bucky, out of his peripheral vision, and Bucky-- couldn’t sense him coming.

The shop, at least, was nice.

There was always noise -- Tony talking to his projects, the fabricators, FRIDAY, the bots -- but very little of it required Bucky’s attention at all, once he’d gotten FRIDAY to stop putting up song lyrics. He really did not care about the tribulations of Bon Scott.

Tony didn’t slip as seamlessly into his work as usual, coming back every ten minutes or so to check on Bucky. “Did you get enough to eat? Need a drink? A blanket?”

Bucky couldn’t decide if it was nice, or infuriating. It was very easy to get lost in the not-quite-silence. Like slipping away, sometimes it would take someone a moment to get his attention. So, it was nice to be reminded that he wasn’t… quite as alone as he’d felt. 

On the other hand, he was the goddamn Winter Soldier, and if he needed a blanket, he could bloody well get one.

“Reminds me,” Bucky said, and that was always so strange, talking. He knew he was talking, he could feel everything working just the way it was supposed to. He didn’t feel like he was drunk, or slurring, or anything. He just couldn’t hear it. And he didn’t know how loud he was being. “Of being the Winter Soldier.”

Tony blinked, startled, and tipped his head to the side curiously. “How?” he asked, or at least, that was the shape his mouth made.

Bucky gestured at the space around his head, like that meant anything. “I’m _here_. And there’s a wall of --” he tried to lower his voice, the pinched expression around Tony’s eyes a subtle clue, maybe, that he was talking too loud. “--nothing. Around me. Like, I’m here, but I’m not… important? Or I don’t understand. They would talk, near me, of course. But it never mattered what they said.”

Tony’s face got tight and pinchy, and he sat next to Bucky, reaching for Bucky’s hands. “You matter,” he said, very slowly, like it was very important that Bucky be able to understand him. “I love you.”

Bucky watched Tony’s mouth moving, memorizing each twitch of lip, the way his teeth moved, closing around the sounds. “Say it again.”

“I. Love. You.” Tony punctuated that with a light kiss, just a brush of his lips across Bucky’s.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, and his throat ached and it had nothing to do with whether or not he could talk, or hear. “Love you, too.”

He closed his eyes, felt Tony under his hands. He hated having his eyes closed, it made everything feel even further away than it was when he couldn’t hear it. But sometimes he just needed to not-- be.

God, his head hurt. Reading had always made his head hurt, for as long as he could remember. “Sometimes the best thing about bein’ the Winter Soldier was that I didn’t hafta read,” Bucky said, speaking into the blackness. 

Bucky felt Tony freeze for a moment, felt the vibrations of Tony’s voice, for a brief moment -- no more than a few words, before he remembered that Bucky couldn’t hear him. Tony moved, leaning closer, and he was nuzzling gently against Bucky’s cheek, his breath warm as it spilled over Bucky’s skin.

Bucky stubbornly kept his eyes shut for a few more moments, not wanting to try to read, or figure out, or… anything. Waited there, in the darkness. Heart thudding in his chest; he could feel the way it tripped, beating faster than normal. His blood pressure was probably through the roof, honestly.

_What if it never comes back?_

Finally, he sighed, opened his eyes, looked at Tony. Wondered if Tony was going to scold him for trying to ignore everything. Or something. Bucky wasn’t sure. The whole not-being-able-to-hear thing was giving him the serious creeps. Like he was always… _missing something._

And that he might never get it back.

Tony was looking at him, forehead creased with worry and confusion. He opened his mouth, then shook his head a little. He opened his hands like a book, then made a comically exaggerated _yuck_ face, tipping his head and raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I swear, I dunno how you all don’t have headaches, like all the time, stupid squirmy shit,” Bucky said. “First thing I did, when I moved in, back-- you know, back when it was JARVIS. He read everything to me, right in my ear. It was _great_.”

Tony’s lips moved, slowly repeating _squirmy_. His frown deepened, until Bucky felt the urge to reach up and smooth it away. And then all of a sudden, his eyes widened, and he said something that Bucky couldn’t read. And then started chattering a mile a minute, so Bucky could only interpret maybe one word in five. “--believe-- --help-- --so much-- --better--”

Bucky scowled down at his tablet, then “What’s _sldexic_ mean?”

Tony stopped, and the scrolling letters paused, thank god. He turned his head, saying something to FRIDAY, and the monitor Tony had been working on flickered and cleared, the schematic replaced with a single word in a typeface -- font, they called it now -- Bucky hadn’t seen before. It was... heavy, like the bottoms of the letters weighed more than the tops, the lines there thicker, and it didn’t _stop_ the letters from wriggling around, but it slowed them down, anchored them in place. _DYSLEXIC_ , the word said. Underneath, a new line of text unfurled, in that same weighted text. _A_ _disorder that creates difficulty in learning to read or interpret words, letters, and other symbols._

Tony was watching Bucky closely.

“Slow,” Bucky said. “S’what my teacher tol’ Ma. I wasn’t-- I mean, I’m _not_. I ain’t… I ain’t _dumb_. I can read.” He felt that familiar shame, that what had been so easy for everyone else, Bucky had labored over and laughed around, and gotten out of by being charming. And… by a sticky fingerprint on a flashcard that told him that one word, the one he kept getting wrong. Was _building_.

Tony nodded, shook his head, made a face. “You’re damn smart,” he said slowly, carefully. “It’s not intelligence. It’s how you see the words. The letters...” He made a wriggly gesture with his hand. “Move.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. _Of course they moved._ That’s what words… did. They moved around, like they were playing musical chairs and Bucky could catch them, sometimes, and pin them to the page, enough so that he got the general idea of what he was looking at. But mostly, he just hadn’t bothered. Shooting a gun made… sense. “Well, yeah?”

Tony shook his head. “They should not,” he enunciated. “They should stay still.” He pointed at the monitor. “Better?”

Quieter. More still. Like he could pick the whole word up. Which, yes, _better_ , but the fact that something had to be changed, just so Bucky could deal with it-- “Something’s wrong with me,” Bucky said. It wasn’t a question. Something had always been wrong with him, but hell, he was just a dumb gun, he didn’t need… except now he couldn’t hear, and apparently he couldn’t _read_. 

And he was alone inside his head.

His eyes burned and then words disappeared in a sudden wash of blurry tears. 

Tony’s arms were around him, holding him close, voice a subtle vibration against his chest, hands stroking soothingly over his hair.

Maybe it was that soft touch, or the way Tony’s voice was nothing but more _wah wah_ in the wall of nonsense noise that flooded him, or just, realizing how big the gap was that separated them. Tony was a genius. A genius, and everything that came with it, and Bucky was not. Not even as good as a whole person anymore, and he didn’t _deserve_ Tony.

And he couldn’t hear himself talk, so the whole story came flooding out. How he struggled so much in school, and hearing that there were places for kids like him. _Hospitals_ for kids that weren’t right in the head. And so he learned. He got his sister to read to him, and she was two years younger, but he could get away with being loud and trouble because he was a boy, and she’d read to him and he’d memorize it. No one had to know.

Tony’s hands tipped Bucky’s face back to look up at him, brushing away hot tears. “You are smart,” Tony insisted. “Bruce is not dumb because he needs glasses to read. You are not dumb because you need help holding the words still. And I love you.” He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, to Bucky’s nose.

“Okay,” he said, because what else was he going to say? Tony obviously didn’t believe that Bucky was an idiot, even if Bucky felt stupider and slower than he ever had in his entire life. And maybe, maybe he could figure this out, cover it up, learn-- there were sign languages, weren’t there? Clint used them sometimes, when he didn’t feel like putting in his hearing aids. Bucky could learn that, maybe.

Something. 

Tony wouldn’t stand for it, if Bucky decided to just… give up.

He let Tony’s gentle, exploratory kiss brush over Bucky’s mouth. “Say it again.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

***

A week after that breakthrough, Bucky was learning ASL -- mostly from Clint, but supplementing with actual lessons, otherwise he’d mostly only know long-range weapons tactical words, and how to order a pizza, and a week after that, he was back in the field. 

Friday could translate Bucky’s sign into words when the team needed it, and the new font meant that Bucky was back on comms, with FRIDAY scrolling necessary information on his HUD.

Three weeks after that, Bucky had surprised Tony with an impromptu waltz around the shop, being able to feel the music rhythms in a special headset that Tony’d been working up. It wasn’t the same as being able to hear, but it was something, at least.

And every night, before bed, Bucky would ask him, very seriously, “Say it again.”

And every night, Tony would tell Bucky, as many times as he wanted, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He signed it as he said it, occasionally dipped into other languages, but always came back to the simplicity of English, and punctuated each declaration with a kiss.

“Love you, too, peaches,” Bucky signed back. He talked less than he used to, signed more. Tony missed the sound of his voice, sometimes, but tried not to mention it. Things were better, so much better, than they had been the first few weeks.

When Tony was woken from a sound sleep to Bucky’s cry, he was utterly shocked. Bucky didn’t make… involuntary sounds. Not anymore.

He was sitting up in bed, clutching at his head, and whining.

Tony sat up as well and put a hand on Bucky’s back, rubbing in small circles. He didn’t bother trying to talk, not while Bucky wasn’t looking at him. He turned up the lights a bit, though, so they could see to sign, if Bucky decided to tell him about it.

“Oh, god,” Bucky said, a whisper, barely a sliver of sound, and then again, louder. “Tony--” He stared up, eyes wide in the half light. “Tony, say something.”

“What is it, sweetheart? I’m right here.” Tony signed as he talked. He didn’t know as much ASL as Bucky had learned, yet, but it was hard _not_ to pick it up, surrounded by it so much.

“I-- I can hear you,” Bucky said, almost reverently, like an old fallen sinner who’d just found God. Again. “Tony, I… Tony, _I can hear you_.”

“What?” Tony’s hands faltered. “You can? You can hear me?” He caught Bucky’s face in his hands. “Really?”

“I can hear you,” Bucky repeated. “I didn’t--” he started crying, almost silently, little hitches of breath and the tears rolled down his cheeks. “I got used to it, I thought that was, it was just always… I got used to it.”

“Hey.” Tony pulled Bucky into his arms, tucked Bucky’s face up against his throat, rocking gently. “It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s okay. We didn’t know when, or even _if_. It wasn’t going to change anything important.”

“Scared me,” Bucky admitted. “Woke up… there was a _noise_ , and I _woke up_. I didn’t even know… what was happening. Oh, god, Tony, I missed you-- so stupid, I missed your voice, all the time. The way you laugh. The way you say--” He looked up again. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” Tony kissed Bucky’s lips, his cheek, his jaw, and then nuzzled at his ear. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too, peaches,” Bucky said. “God, I missed that. More than anything else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dyslexia, as a disorder, became more widely known in the United States in 1944, the year after Bucky Barnes fell from the train. For quite a long time, it was still thought of as being a lack in education, rather than a disorder. Bucky, having gone to school in the 20s and 30s, would have been classified as Learning Disabled and treated accordingly. (Not well.)
> 
> https://www.dyslexiefont.com/en/typeface/


End file.
